Those few people who knew me well would doubtless expect that by this point I’d have long been struck blind, deaf and mute from my experience. Yet I’m convinced a coward’s mind works differently to most others. You see, I no longer felt the cold, even though I knew the chill wind was biting and was evidenced by Quinn, who constantly clutched at his green jacket against the wind. Myself, stripped down to the breeches had long stopped feeling it, like my mind was shutting down the systems that made me aware to the dangers. Another example of this was that I’d been speaking in more rash tones and using more brash language with Quinn, as though I could no longer see the inevitable outcome. Then again, maybe things had just become so bad, I no longer feared the consequences.
Nonetheless, when the bastard turned his back on me, I began my usual ritual of screaming and crying and begging for him to release me, to save me because all I wanted was to see another day. I even tried ordering him again, which showed how bad things were getting.
Because now the dead were climbing out from the ditch.
I couldn’t see, but my guess was the mass of charred toffee below had become so thick the dead could simply walk across with only the slightest hindrance.
The first few climbed out still ablaze before collapsing after two steps. But soon they simply stumbled straight across and flooded the open ground with their numbers. What’s more - I could no longer see what else Lynch had in wait, but my coward’s mind automatically assumed the worst case scenario - That they had nothing.
Quinn, tired of my screaming slapped me across the face with the back of his hand before pulling out his carbine and pointing the barrel in my face, his finger twitching over the trigger. “One more peep out of yee, laddy, and I’ll feckin' stab yee.”
He stamped back to his position by the wall, leaving me almost crippled with anger and a touch of confusion.
The dead were now pouring over the ditch and although Lynch and his men had apparently fallen back to maintain defensive positions closer to the fort, from the trees, the only dead now emerging were those with broken spines, short legs, no legs or those laden down with the weight of deer carcass - They’d spent their numbers.
But there were still more than enough already in the field to engulf this doomed fort and I was taking no chances. There were no more options left for me, they were all exhausted and so all I could do was pull with all the strength my tired body could raise.
Quinn stared below, enthralled at the carnage and I could tell by the fact he was looking and shouting straight down at the men that they were by the front walls making a last ditch defence.
Flames leapt into the air with a whoosh and someone screamed their final words. Filthy smoke soon followed and I knew they’d ignited something and created a wall of fire for the dead to walk through. The maniacs would burn the whole fort down and then something crashed, like a wall had fallen in.
I intensified my efforts, pressing one foot against the iron and pushing whilst also pulling with my arms, which felt like they could tear off at any moment as the rope burned into my wrists. Something creaked but it wasn’t the rope, which hadn’t yet snapped, if it ever would and so I lifted my other foot so I could now push with the full force of both legs. My knees slowly and painfully extended and then I heard a deep splintering sound, followed by a snap and suddenly I was thrust forward like an out of control locomotive…
…crashing into Quinn…
…who tumbled head first over the side.
The weight of something incredibly heavy dragged me to the ground before I could follow the big Irishman over the edge and I saw him flail through the air before landing on some trooper who was in the process of skewering a ghoul through the eye.
Neither moved.
But Lynch who was stood in close formation with his comrades and who was narrowly missed by the falling Quinn, now looked upwards, at me.
To my mind, everything from being propelled forward to what was about to unfold, all happened in slow motion, yet still, I was powerless to prevent any of it.
Lynch was undergoing some sort of mental stupor whilst trying to conceive of what had just happened. All this during the heat of battle as his mind was fixed on defending and attacking, utilising his full concentration. His colour sergeant and one other lay lifeless by his feet and there was old Strappy peeking out over the parapet, apparently free.
I didn’t know it at the time, but the rusty old flag pole had severed and had spent the last three seconds balancing precariously between my back and the rope that bound my hands.
As Lynch probably saw, such an equilibrium cannot be maintained for long, especially when Strappy is still crouching dazed on the floor.
Something moved against my back, a great load that almost wrenched me up from the floor when it slammed against the wall which acted as a fulcrum. My wrists were still bound around the base of the pole which now, would either fling me into the air, breaking my arms in the process, or simply slide out from their confines.
I’ve considered myself both lucky and unlucky in equal measure. But there’s no doubt that at that moment, the laws of physics were on my side as the weight and sheer length of the pole caused it to slide away, releasing my hands and myself from certain death.
What Lynch was about to see though was something far worse, for him at least. Because from his point of view, all he knew was that I was free and that even now, the colour was free falling toward the giant inferno he’d created.
I’d have given a month’s pay to know what was galloping through his mind as the pole, colour and all, slowly fell to be engulfed in the flames.
His mouth hung open, his neck bent forward, he clasped his blond locks and tugged and finally, as the colour was incinerated, he fell to his knees and wept.
My mind was still recovering from the shock as Lynch cast his eye to me where we held a mutual look for what seemed like forever, all whilst the dead waged war around him.
One of his fellows was brought to the floor by a gang of four or five to be savagely mauled to death whilst Quinn and the other were likewise feasted upon.
The battle was over for Lynch. He’d lost the fort and therefore his mission. His men were dead and I was free, sort of. But worst of all, his precious colour had turned to ashes which meant he, and the rest of us by extension, had lost our honour.
He stood, drew his sword and disappeared as he ran into the fort.
My heart thumped - He was coming for me.
ALTHOUGH THE LEAST of my problems, releasing myself from my bounds was simple. I simply crouched and stepped through them before untying them from the front.
Then throwing them away, I leapt for the arch and was halfway down the first flight of stone spiral steps within two giant vaults, my adrenaline, cowardice and honed automatic flight response taking over.
Naturally I already knew where I was heading, despite having only the barest knowledge of the fort’s layout and structure. Outside was out of the question, so I’d head as far down as the fort’s foundations would allow, find some nook to share along with the spiders and worms and hope to remain, parched and terror stricken in my hole until the dead gave up and Lynch either died from the former or through sheer rage in which he planned taking out on me.
Round and round I went as the steps curled anti clockwise, which would, in medieval times, have given the defenders above the right handed advantage against attackers. But even with that advantage I never even considered taking on Lynch as I made my third then fourth revolution. And that was when, in my haste to flee, I struck something and lost my footing, sending us both tumbling down the steps, my forward momentum and gravity giving me the advantage against what I now saw to be a ghastly member of the dead straining itself to reach me with its opened mouth even as we clattered into every stone step on the bumpy ride down. Its skin came away in my hands as I clawed at its face, my fingers inches from its teeth. We were belly to belly as I sailed the freak downwards, wringing its neck with my cold hands, pushing do
wn on its throat as hard as my tired muscles could, grinding its cranium into the stone with every thump. It slowed and then we hit the landing.
I didn’t wait around to see if it was permanently dead because I was on the ground floor, where even now Lynch stomped across the courtyard toward me. The flames licked around him, the destructive maniac, and at least three wooden structures in the courtyard were ablaze.
The steps descended further into the very bowels of the fort, darkness even with the walls glowing orange. Right now, that was the only place for Strappy and I wasted no time, bounding three hard steps together. I must have made four more circles into the abyss, each level leading to other great rooms, stacked to the roof with boxes.
I plunged further down until I could go no further, charged through a corridor and darted for the far side of the dimness in what must’ve been deep underground. Wherever I was, a crypt, dungeon or simply hell, it was sparsely lit with intermittent lanterns and then I saw something that almost made me want to turn around and take my chances with Lynch…
…Gunpowder!
I was in the weapons store. And doubtless Colonel Fitzgibbon would love to get his hands on it. From floor to roof were stacked barrel after barrel, their contents clearly written in big black script. Carts lay ready piled with rifles, carbines, even cannons. There were uniforms, tents and saddles too numerous for a single cavalry regiment. But gunpowder! And the Paddies had stacked it beside naked flames, which I’d extinguish if only I had the time. But what would be the point, considering a great fire presently raged a few floors above and the dead who walked through Lynch’s fire wall like they were taking a stroll through Hyde Park, to follow the madman down below.
Footsteps echoed from far away and I slowed my movements, sticking to the wall, searching for a door, to somewhere, anywhere. It was at the far end where I felt a large round iron handle, which I twisted, thrusting open the heavy oaken door to reveal a narrow corridor with a single door at the far end. It would be the end of the road, whatever lay beyond it.
When I closed the door behind me, I was plunged into darkness. The stone walls gave me the feeling of claustrophobia and I could reach up and touch the ceiling, it was so low. I walked into my final door with a thud, searched for the handle, found it and pushed it open.
I was not alone.
THE DEAD MAN ran for me and in a flash, I knew that was it.
There are times when even a coward, and a lucky coward at that, knows when his time’s come and for me, that was the moment.
Or so I thought.
Instinctively, I uselessly raised my arms to shield my face, expecting to be mauled at any moment.
And then I heard the clang of chain and the monster snarled because it’d reached full extension and was still several paces short.
I clasped my heart and breathed in the warm rot that submerged the room, my eyes watering of their own accord.
I shoved the door closed, already scanning the room, which was lit by a floor lantern in the corner, for anything useful. That was when I saw them.
Two babies lay in the corner, as far from the dead man as the room would allow. They were wrapped in sheets and must’ve died from starvation, they were so thin and malnourished, pale and small.
I looked back to the creep at the other side, saw the manacle about its ankle, the deep gash in its thigh and knew what the father must’ve done in a forlorn effort at saving his children before turning into one of them himself. I wanted to put the ghoul out of its misery, out of respect if nothing else, but something stopped me, and it was more than the lack of weaponry within the chamber, which at one point must’ve been a cell. How long had they been down here?
The baby cried.
I whipped around and uncovered them…
…They were both alive, perched on the edge between life and death, lying in their own waste, uncomfortable and in agony.
It wasn’t like me at all, but all I wanted to do was take them away from this cell, to look after them, to see them live. This was no place for two infants and they’d suffered enough already.
The monster strained against its shackles, rattling, jangling and clattering chain against stone. It strained so hard it could wrench its leg off at any minute, the manacle was already biting deep through its muscle. It wanted me and savagely tugged and strained and heaved, its hands clawing my way, hissing, spitting, its eyes black and evil. It wore a soldier’s uniform, that of the 27th Regiment of Foot from nearby Inniskilling, the red jacket torn but not faded and I guessed when he was alive he’d been bitten defending the fort, absconded to this place with his babies and shackled himself to the wall in the hope some hero would happen by, find them alive and rescue them.
Well they’d have no hero, but me instead and I wiped away a tear at the cruelty of the whole rotten thing. What could I do? Even if Lynch wasn’t presently rooting about in search of me, I’d still have the dead to evade. No - All I could do was forget the babies, with their little tufts of red hair, and crouch in the corner like a rat, in the hope Lynch somehow would fail to discover my whereabouts.
Time dragged on and I never adjusted to the smell, nor the inane snarling from my dead companion, who’d at times taken to lying flat on the cold stone, in the hope that doing so would make him longer. It didn’t work of course, no matter how hard it dug its broken nails into the floor and attempted to pull itself along. To its credit though, he never gave up, no matter how secure he was in the shackles. Its foot was twisted, the iron bracket now deep into its ankle bone where shards of white powder had ground away and gathered in a pile on the floor. He was working away and if Lynch never reached me, the babies’ father soon would.
Did the creature possess enough of its former mind not to harm his children? I doubted it, but I didn’t want to be around to find out.
The door crashed open and Lynch burst inside.
He fixated on the growling idiot first, where he stood in the entrance and while my bowels burst, I even dared hope he wouldn’t see me, where I squatted in the dark corner. Without thinking, I pressed as hard as I could against the stone in a vain effort at making myself as small as possible. His eyes flicked once to the babies and then the monster altered trajectory across the floor, half rising onto its legs as it swung round and pounced for my tormentor.
Lynch didn’t even flinch as the chain snapped to full extension and its claws came usefully close to his eyes.
I whimpered and tasted the salt on my lips as Lynch squinted toward me in the corner. Could he see me?
He cackled, “there you are Strappy. Quite the soldier, aren’t you.”
“No, no, please don’t hurt me.” Oh, how pitiful I sounded. “Please, why can’t we just forget about all this?”
He carefully sidestepped the ghoul, pulled out his pistol and placed it on top of a barrel. “After everything you’ve done, there’s only one outcome for you.” I didn’t know what he planned, but having discarded his gun, he now unbuckled his belt, sabre and all before placing it with the rest.
It was useless, but I tried pushing myself through the wall anyway. It truly was the last refuge of a coward and for me, this seemed like a fitting place to die, hiding like a mouse in a pit.
The babies cried, but Lynch didn’t shrink nor care.
“Won’t you stand and face me like a man?” He taunted whilst I squatted. “Or aren’t you a man?” I couldn’t respond, my voice lost through fear and just to distress me further, he removed his eye patch, exposing the horrifying chasm behind it before stepping closer, flexing his fingers. “It’s time to feed you to the dead, you worm.”
I made a sudden jerking movement, forlornly hoping that doing so would dissuade him from harming me, it wouldn’t and he shook his head, completely dismayed at the worm I was.
“I never understood how you fooled so many, but no matter, you’ll die regardless and after burning the colour, I’ll have to make it extra painful, feeding you to that,” and he pointed to the mess that strained to get him,
“bit by bit.” He tried to catch my arm but I batted it away with a whimper, like a child trying to avoid his father’s birch.
I knew it was worthless, but I had to make the attempt anyway and so I threw in my last ditch effort. “It wasn’t me who burned the colour…how could I? You saw me tied up. It was all Quinn’s doing, I tell you. There…there…there were so many dead, he just went mad.”
He’d been about to make a second attempt for my arm, no doubt to drag me toward the monster, but checked his step and scratched his jaw. “You’ve really done it this time, Strapper, slandering the dead, a good man, an honourable man who survived the Charge with me. Tell me, you miserable dog, why would a man who survived a charge into Russian artillery with all his faculties intact, suddenly go mad from atop a building at the sight of a few dead men far below?”
I searched my head for some reason but could come up with nothing convincing. “Oh, I don’t know, he just did, that’s all I know and…”
“…Enough.” He went for me again and this time grabbed ahold of my naked wrist, but it was so covered in my own sweat, his hand slipped away.
But he’d only try again in a second and rather than wait for the inevitable, I decided instead on being proactive - By falling to my knees.
I grabbed his boot and pleaded. “Please Beegan, spare my miserable rotten life, I’m a soldier fighting an army of the dead…I’ll probably die soon enough anyway, and a death far worse than anything you could afflict. That’s the fate that awaits me, please won’t you allow me it.”
He wrenched his boot free and kicked me in the belly and whilst I gasped for breath, unable to defend myself, he pulled me up by the neck before commencing to choke me against the wall.
Over his shoulder, the beast was going insane, yanking, pulling, tugging, heaving, thrusting and then Lynch moved his head closer to mine, blocking my view behind him, and I truly believe, that as the life was being constricted from me, he wanted my final sight to be the dark void within his head.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 14